Come To Your Senses
by hammergirl
Summary: preRENT: A take on the events in Roger’s life leading up to a certain suicide. [Hiatus, but probably dropped for good]
1. Part I: Sight

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Author's Note:

This fic will come in five parts, and each part will be based around one of the five senses. One sense will be heightened and the others will sort of fall by the wayside. That's it! Hope you like it, and please review.

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Disclaimer:

None of the _RENT _characters are mine, they're Jonathan Larson's. The title of the story and the title of all the chapters are from the song Come To Your Senses from Jonathan Larson's _Tick…Tick…BOOM!_

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COME TO YOUR SENSES 

Part I – Sight – Deep In My Eyes, What Do You See?

Roger watched the needle plunge into his skin and he felt an immediate burst of euphoria. A smile spread across his lips and he threw his head back, looking up at the dark sky. No stars were visible even though it was a clear night. Smog and smoke from nearby factories replaced where the clouds would have been, and so a round blurred light stood in place of the moon. He pressed his back against the red brick wall behind him and saw the needle drop from his hand. He looked to his right, where he found a large green dumpster. Several flies appeared to be searching for some sort of solace in the trash. There were piles of garbage at the foot of it, and cardboard boxes and more garbage lined up against the brick wall opposite of him. Parked behind the dumpster was an old, dilapidated car covered in rust and dull red paint. There was a large dent in the side of it where it looked like something very heavy had been thrown into it. At his feet, a small puddle of a red liquid. Disgusting. 

Roger turned on the heel of his old black sneakers and emerged from the dark alley onto the relatively empty street. He threw a last glance over his shoulder and saw the line up to get into a nearby club. Several dozens of young people stood there waiting in front of a larger man, the bouncer, hoping to get in. A small girl, barely 19, he concluded, was standing near the front of the line. Her mane of dark curly hair and her beautiful dark-skinned face made her stand out from the others. He shook his head and crossed the street. The pavement was still wet from a spring shower that had plagued most of New York earlier that day. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger noticed two men yelling obscenities at each other, surrounded by a small group of others, including a shorter, pudgier man that was trying to break the two apart. A night time brawl. His favourite kind. He resisted the urge to go and see what was happening and continued to wander seemingly aimlessly down the side streets, though he knew exactly where he had to go.

He saw the light shining down from the street lamps above him and watched them slowly, one by one, turn off as he roamed down the sidewalk. At the top of the street, Roger saw a compact red sports car swing around the corner. The windows were rolled down and he could barely see the two women who appeared as blonde lipsticked blurs sitting in the front seats as the car zoomed passed him in what seemed to be a monumental hurried fury.

The rush from the drug finally kicked in, and Roger started to laugh. This was his favourite part. He grinned stupidly and hid eyes flickered with joy and lightheartedness. He noticed the few people around him, mostly the homeless, staring at him as he turned the corner walking past them, laughing and swinging his arms. A few people spoke up and yelled vulgar words at him, but Roger took no notice, studying the strange movements of his fingers in front of his face.

He stopped abruptly in front of an old, crumbling brick building. The windows had rust-stricken bars covering them, and most of the glass was dirty or broken. He saw the silhouette of a young man clad in a large sweater, the hood covering his face, running out of the short apartment building across the street carrying a small television set. The silver antenna fell off as he ran, but the boy didn't care and continued to sprint down the street. An older woman was leaning out the window, grasping onto a old wooden baseball bat, screaming and waving her arms at the boy who had now turned the corner and disappeared into the endless darkness.

Roger walked up the two concrete stairs to the front door of the apartment and pulled open the large steel door, walking into the very small, dimly lit lobby. He hesitated buzzing her apartment. She would be able to tell that he was high and wouldn't let him up to see her. He stared at the chipped black button with an off-white "244" painted on it for a moment. His hand slowly reached up to press it when he saw a young woman stumbling over to the door from inside. Her blue jeans were ripped, her shirt buttons were done up incorrectly, and her horribly dyed red hair was messy, but she kept a toothy grin on her face as she swung the door open forcefully, giggling loudly before pushing the next door open and almost falling down the stairs outside as she left the building. Roger quickly caught the lobby door that was slowly falling shut and slid through, letting it close on it's own behind him.

He took a few long strides over to the old industrial elevator and pressed the "up" call button to retrieve it down to him from wherever it may be. He tapped his foot impatiently. He pressed the button several times and ran his fingers through his short blonde hair. The barred partitan slid to the side and Roger lifted the garage-like door, stepping underneath it. He let it drop on it's own, and pressed the round "2" and the "Close Door" button.

The elevator made some routine noises and started up slowly. Roger laughed loudly as he felt the butterfly feeling inside his stomach as he rode the elevator two floors up. He gripped the black railing on the wall of the large elevator and leaned forward, watching the lights over the door flashing what seemed rapidly. The contraption stopped slowly with a large crashing noise and the doors opened to reveal a murkily lit hallway. He stepped out onto the grimy carpeting and started down the hallway, looking at the gold painted numbers on the doors as he went. The light bulb above him flickered several times, but remained alive. The old brown doors covering each doorway stood proudly, though they should have been anything but. The plastic numbers on them were loose or falling off and the doorknobs didn't need to turn to be opened. If he had just rested a callused finger on one of the weak doors and pushed gently, it would come tumbling down, probably cracking in two.

When he came to apartment 244, Roger made a tight fist an rapped three times on the door. A very thin, pale woman answered quickly. Her light hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that hung down her back and her clothes hung loosely off of her. She smiled at him, but her smile faded when she noticed how bloodshot her boyfriend's eyes were. She didn't like it when Roger did that. She was bad, but she wasn't into drugs.

"Finally," April said, shutting the door tightly behind them. If she didn't close it properly, it would swing open on it's own. "Where have you been? It's almost one."

Roger saw her lips moving, but he didn't pay attention to the words coming out. He glanced around the small studio apartment as she talked. It wasn't dirty, it was messy. Clothes were piled at the foot of her bed and spilling out over dresser drawers and clothing hampers. The bed wasn't made, but it never was. The dark blue comforter looked like it was about to fall off the edge of the bed, but it continued to cling onto the wrinkled white sheets for dear life. The makeshift kitchen was just as disorganized, with piles of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters. A white and red dishtowel that was probably once used to attempt to tackle this mess lay abandoned, haphazardly dropped over the edge of the sink.

"Earth to Roger…" April tilted her head at Roger and frowned, her ponytail falling onto her shoulder. He responded with a smile and wrapped his arms around his small girlfriend. She was very thin, mostly because she didn't eat very much. He picked up her limp hand with his and examined the ring on her finger. It was a cheap gold ring with a pretend purple jewel on the top. Roger remembered giving that to her. It was a hot summer day and they were in the air conditioned subway station, claiming to be 'waiting for their train,' though they were just hoping to get out of the extreme heat. They sat on the orange plastic seats, talking and just sitting in comfortable silence. April had begged Roger to get her something from the toy machine by their seats. It was a small metal structure that was low to the ground, at eye-level for a young child. There was a large glass box attached to a thick metal pole that was bolted to the ground. Just in case, a big metal chain was wrapped around the pole and bolted to the tiled wall to prevent any thievery. Inside the glass box were several clear plastic bulbs with colourful lids. The bulbs each held a treasure inside, whether it be a small green army man, prepared to escape battle with his plastic paper parachute, or a green plastic figurine of the Statue of Liberty. He put the shiny quarter that he had found on the sidewalk earlier into the slot and helped April turn the small silver handle until a clear plastic bulb came out into her other hand. Inside was the tiny ring. It was meant for the small fingers of a child, but fit April's thin fingers perfectly.

"Roger, I was worried. Do you even know what time it is?" She desperately tried to get an answer out of him, resting a hand on his muscular arms. The only way she could do this anymore was by raising her voice.

Roger heard this, and his eyes drifted over to the clock on the VCR. The small yellow numbers were blinking '12:00' over and over on the black screen behind it. He laughed, loudly and obnoxiously. April saw this and laughed as well, shaking her head back and forth. He watched the frail woman standing in front of him smiling and wrapping her arms around his neck, and found that her empty and dim eyes were their normal vibrant bright blue once again.


	2. Part II: Sound

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Part II – Sound – Deep In My Sighs, Listen to Me

Roger removed his arms from April and wandered over to the loudly buzzing refrigerator. He opened the door, but found nothing of interest, so let it snap shut on it's own.

"Roger, you know I don't like it when you do that," April started. She shuffled over to the kitchen near Roger and filled a relatively clean glass with water from the tap. Roger rubbed the back of his neck and moaned quietly.

"Yeah," he replied distractedly. He tapped his fingernails along the top of the counter and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. April took a loud sip from her glass and peered up at her boyfriend.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked him harshly. 

"No," Roger replied honestly but distracted, absentmindedly flipping the pages in a magazine on the counter.

April's voice became very shrill and loud. "Roger, I could just kill you, you know that? It's like you don't even care about me anymore – it's all you and your drugs and your stupid band! You don't even know what I—"

"Shh…" Roger cut her off slowly. He raised a finger to her lips and took the glass out of her hand, resting it down on the counter beside them. "You know I love you," he said quietly. "I care about you most of all." He moved in closer to April and leaned in, kissing her gently. She kissed him back, but quickly recoiled, stomping over to the other side of her apartment.

"I-I can't keep doing this! You show up here drunk or high every night and I got weak at the knees and fall into your arms anyway! I can't do it anymore! I'm fed up with all your shit. I just… I give up." April threw her arms into the air and bumped her head against the wall, leaning like that until she heard Roger's footsteps coming up behind her. She quickly spun around and pushed him away to the best of her ability.

"Get the fuck off of me, okay? You don't touch me! Go the hell away. I can't do this anymore," she sniffed. She sighed as she held her hands to her eyes to stop the tears.

"I never cry, you know that! I can't even remember the last time I cried! And you come over and fuck everything up for me and make me cry. God, how did I stand you?" she yelled, her feet beating against the floor as she paced around the small apartment.

Roger watched the frail woman stomping around the apartment, but didn't register what she was saying. He grabbed onto her shoulders, trying to stop her from moving around so much. It was making him feel sick.

"April…April, relax. I'm here now," he murmured quietly.

April tore out of his grasp and made a loud sound of surprise.

"Christ, Roger! Are you honestly that stupid?! That's the problem! _You're_ the problem! Can you hear me?!" she screeched. She stood up straight in front of Roger and roughly took his face in her hands, staring into his barren eyes.

"Are you fucking listening to me? Roger! W—why did you do this? Why did you fuck up your life? And my life?" she pushed him away and sat down on her bed, the coils inside squeaking as she did so.

The two remained silent for a long time, but neither of them knew for how long. Roger stood frozen in place. He stared out the window at a neon sign and swore he could hear it buzzing from inside. From a far-off distance he heard a baby crying, and he heard a fog horn from what sounded like right outside. He didn't know why April was so mad, but right now he didn't care too much.

He took two steps forward and April stood up from her seat on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She sniffed her tears back and whimpered.

"April…" 

"What?" she asked sharply.

Roger cleared his throat and sauntered over to April. He didn't have anything to say, but he was sick of the deafening silence.

"I'm… sorry," he finally forced out.

"No you're not," she replied quietly.

"Yeah I am." Roger finally took of his coat and dropped it on the couch, it making a heavy noise as it fell to the ground.

"If you were sorry you would stop," she spat bitterly. "I can't believe you."

Roger slipped off his shoes and moved closer to April who backed away to the window.

"Please, April. Believe me," he said, louder than he meant to. He wasn't sure what April wanted to hear. He was too engrossed in his high, but maybe if he told her he was sorry, she wouldn't be angry anymore. 

"No you won't!" she yelled, staring out the window. "What do you take me for? I wasn't born yesterday, Roger!"

A loud, shrill scream was heard from below, and a deeper voice came muffled from the floor below.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment!" the shrill voice screamed.

Roger gave a small shrug and sighed. "I love you."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't be making me cry."

"I'm sorry. Please believe me, baby. Please. I will."

"You will what?" April asked, her hands poised on her hips.

Roger didn't know how to answer that. He hadn't been paying too much attention to April's ramblings, so he didn't have any idea as to what he was promising her. Sounds replayed in his mind as he tried to recall.

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The booming music of the club.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

"That's the problem! You're the problem!"

The buzzing neon sign.

"Believe me."

The beautiful Spanish girl laughing with her friends.

Crying babies.

"Why did you do this? Why did you fuck up your life? And my life?"

"Roger, you know I don't like it when you do that."

'That'. What was 'that'? Drinking? April drank, too. Drugs? April didn't do drugs. April didn't like it when he did drugs.

"You don't like it when I do drugs."

"Good observation, dumbass."

"I'll stop doing drugs."

"You've been listening?"

"Of course," Roger blatantly lied. He felt like his head was going to explode with a big **BOOM**. He wished April would stop yelling so much.

April sauntered over to Roger and looked him in the eyes. She had stopped crying and her blue eyes were clear and full of screaming anger. He wrapped his arms around her back. She wrenched her arm out of his grip and slapped him hard across the face. Roger stumbled back, but regained his balance with help from the couch.

April fell into Roger, sobbing and gasping for breath.

"Shh," he consoled her, stroking her hair. He sniffed and hummed the beginning of her favourite song that his band played, rocking her back and forth. He took her tiny hand in his much bigger one and shuffled his feet on the ground, dancing with April.

"I hate you…" she breathed. She sniffed back her tears and tried to punch Roger in the chest with her free hand, but it came out as a gentle _thud_ as she was far too exhausted to put any force into it.

Roger continued to hum, pulling April closer. They danced like that for a little while longer until April spoke up again.

"I love you."

Roger kissed the top of her head and lifted her up carefully from the ground. He kept humming as he carried her over to the bed and gently placed her on it, the box spring squeaking quietly underneath. He sat down and lifted her shirt over her head, still humming. Always humming. April tugged him closer to her by his shirt.

"I like that song," April whispered.

"I know," Roger replied, helping April take off his own shirt. He leaned down and kissed her, still listening to the neon sign humming outside.


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